"You have a briefcase, for crying out loud"

It's a role I never wanted.  I didn't think I was well-suited for it.  I barely passed typing in high school.

However, in 1982 when I was suddenly catapulted into the world of being a single parent, it's what I had to do. 

I became a secretary.

That role I never wanted helped me take care of my children all the way through their high school and college graduations.

Fortunately, for more than 20 years, I had supervisors that were great, understanding and appreciative of the fact that I liked being a mother much more than I liked being in the workplace and understood the value I placed on being at baseball games, school plays and ensuring that my children could know that I was there for them.

I liked it when the position changed from "secretary" to "administrative professional".  Same exact job - just sounded better.  Technology took over the workplace and we got those wonderful Microsoft Office Products that helped us with our responsibilities.  I began to feel like I was pretty good in my job.

And today I look back on those years fondly.

Even though I always wanted to do something different. I applied for other positions, talked about what I wanted to do.  Once as I shared my dreams of moving on to a position with what I believed to have more clout, my daughter Renee told me that she was not surprised to hear me say that.  She is the person who gets the credit for the name of this post - I did have a briefcase. 

And I was encouraged to do something else...

"Write".  Those were the words of my very first boss, Ben Goldsmith, who was the director of Here's Life Jacksonville where I worked from 1982-1988.

"Finish college", my family and friends told me.

"Do something for others", said Vic Lust, my Vistakon manager.  He echoed the words of TJ Wagner, Debbie McIntyre, Pam Quarles and Bob LaBelle.  They saw how much I loved working on the United Way campaigns.

So in 2003, I left the world of administrative professionals.  I had graduated from UNF in 2002 and  I found a job in the non-profit sector.  And guess what - I used many of the skills that I had learned when I was in all those former positions - which I continue to find very beneficial in my current roles  as an event coordinator or a writer or a caregiver.

Today is Administrative Professionals Day.  I no longer consider myself an ADMIN, but I greatly value those who are - from Tamra Smith who became my friend through the International Association of Administrative Professionals to the great staff at the Episcopal Diocese of Florida who make my job as the Convention Coordinator much easier to my childhood friend, Kathy Darrow Constant who recently retired after many years as an Administrative person.

So with gratitude for what I learned and appreciation for the supervisors who encouraged me, I salute those who remain in that position.  Happy Administrative Professionals Day!

Can I change the color?

My thumbs are black.

Try as I may I cannot get them to be white - like my sister's - or my son's - who I think got that magical touch from our grandma Nesmith.  They can both make bread and Cindy makes a mean pound cake. 

I also don't think I'm going to get them to be green - like my mother's who most likely got that from grandma Nesmith.

Hum - I think all I  got from grandma Nesmith is that I like to entertain.

So what do I mean when I say my thumbs are black?

Printer's ink.

And in reality to I really want to change the color of my thumbs.

No.

I know that God gives us each unique and special gifts. 

We all have a gift.  Did you know that? And it's better for us to use that gift rather than to try to make ourselves fit into a mold where either another gift is necessary OR where we don't get to exercise that God-given gift.

In a recent conversation a friend shared how someone he works with is a great painter.  He described the skill of the person and I could just see this guy on a ladder trimming out the top of the wall.  I could see that clearly because one thing I can never do right is to trim out.  My last effort even included a special pad that I should be able to trim the top of that wall with nary a drip on the ceiling.

Yeah, right.  It took as long to go back and wipe those drops off the ceiling as it did to trim out the wall.

The issue with my friend is that his work includes lots of other hands on skills but no painting.

It made me want to get this person together with my son the contractor.  Surely he needs painters.

Which makes me think of one of my gifts.  I may not know the answer to a question but I always know someone who does.  I think that's because one of my gifts is encouragement.

I did make a pound cake the other day (from a mix).  It was fair.  I do have a flower garden in my front yard.  Some of the plants seem to be thriving.  And the hibiscus that didn't bloom at all last year has a few buds on it. 

So maybe I can use that gift of encouragement and encourage myself.  Just because I may not be the BEST baker, gardener, painter...doesn't mean I shouldn't give it my best shot. 

I think the words of the Apostle Paul in the book of Colossians (paraphrased by Eugene Peterson in The Message) say it best

"Let every detail in your lives - words, actions, whatever - be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way"Whatsoever you do, do it all to the glory of God"

A man who has friends...

My mother tried her best to drive it into my brain.  I was always lamenting the fact that I didn't think I had many friends and she would give me a verse "A man who has friends, must show himself friendly". 

I was, in today's vernacular - not so much friendly - when I was a child.

One of my childhood friends died recently.  Well, no she wasn't really my friend.  I never liked her.  She used to get on my last nerve.  I was mean to her.  Once (in my granddaddy Nesmith's view), I even slapped her.

If you know me today you might think.  Paula didn't have a lot of friends?  And hopefully you will think "Paula was mean - mean enough to slap someone?"  How can that be?

I have no idea when it changed.  But I'm glad it did.

By today I can tell you I have so many friends.  I have a close circle (most people think that should be three, but mine is more like five or six and that's not counting my mother, my daughters, my sister and sisters in law and Coulter).  I have an expanded circle of at least 12 (and that includes my childhood and high school friends) and another expanded circle and another.

And I'm forever meeting someone that I feel like - Wow, I'd love to be friends.

And it doesn't matter - color, social status, education - or in that little girl from childhood's case - weight - I have found it that my mother was right - I did need to be friendly.

Actually years later I had an opportunity to be nice to that little girl.  She was in the 10th grade when I was a senior.  She had a huge crush on one of my dear friends, who actually lived in our home that year.  She so much wanted him to take her to an event and I wielded a bit of influence and she had the date of her lifetime (at least up until then).  When I read her obituary, it seems that her life has turned out well and the words like kindness and caring came through loud and clear.

I wish I had had the opportunity to know her as an adult. 

And I would like to have told her - I finally learned that I am not the be all and end all and I should have never put her down like I did when we were little girls.

Now I know that my attitudes growing up had a lot to do with self esteem, but that's for another time. And what I know best today-is that it's always good to learn something!

The bridge to nowhere

Ah yes, I  remember it well.

Well, sort of.

I always thought I was in Miss Bradshaw's third grade class at Hogan Spring Glen Elementary, but now I'm thinking I was in Mrs. McIntosh's first grade or maybe Mrs. Kitchen's second grade -- but does that really matter?

What matters is that a bridge had been built. It would carry vehicles across the St. Johns River between Arlington and Jacksonville's Northside.  It was very high and long.  I remember that when we drove across it we  could see the Ford Motor Company plant where my uncle Henry Capp and his father "Granddaddy Capp" worked.  My uncle Leon worked for Ford too but I don't think he worked at the plant.  My daddy loved bridges and although he probably didn't like it that it cost 15 cents to go across, I am sure that he was excited to drive my sister, Cindy and me across that bridge.

We had no doubt been across it many times.

However, when it was time for a field trip to the zoo, I remember that the teacher told us we would be driving across the bridge - something hat some of my classmates had never done.

Today that seems so strange.

That bridge, the John Matthews Bridge, celebrates its 60th anniversary this weekend.  The Florida Times Union recalls that it was the bridge to nowhere.

I can just hear some of my relatives.  It was the bridge to somewhere - the place they called home, the place where my parents and many of our family members had gone to elementary school (Arlington Grammar (now Elementary) and it would offer easy access to the shipyards where other family members went daily to make their living and feed their families.

I will agree that it opened the way to other places - shopping malls, housing developments, professional offices. 

Because in reality the words to nowhere usually mean that eventually nowhere will be somewhere!

I've been reading One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. These words - "you don't want to change the story because you don't know what a different ending holds". 

As I read the story in the TU this morning and remembered the many times I've been across that bridge, the fact that it was such a huge deal for my classmates to experience and some of the beauty that Arlington offered, I thought what if they hadn't built that bridge to nowhere. 

To Voskamp's point, I know that Arlington didn't remain the totally beautiful, peaceful, void of crime part of our city, but even the bad did not prevent it from being somewhere!  It's good we didn't know the ending!

Until I happen past a mirror

It happens when I least expect it.

Everything will be going fine in my little heart and mind.  And then suddenly... some memory will surface - of a time in my life that made me sad, defeated, even distraught.

I was reminded of this last week.  It was a beautiful day and I had plans for the day to be filled with smiles.

Merrily on my way, I began my morning walk, thinking about how happy I am, excited to be thinking of the future, even singing songs of praise to God in my head. 

With no warning, the sidewalk on San Jose Boulevard jumped up and hit me - right in the face!

I got up and headed home.  Already I  could feel the goose egg to the left of my left eye.  I saw the blood on my little finger and I felt the pain in my ribs.

Rats.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I lamented the fact that this might prohibit the day I had planned.  Okay the tears where also there because it hurt.  I'm just not one to admit the fact that I hurt.

Five days have passed.   I have a shiner. But I forget about it.  Until I happen past a mirror.

And that's how life is.

I'll be fine, walking through life, appreciating all the good things and suddenly some memory will raise its ugly head and I'll feel so very sad, defeated. 

One of the times this happens is when I am on this side of some wonderful experience and something will remind me of the pain I have suffered in one area or another.

So what do I do about this.  First thing is that I recognize it.  Then I make an effort to forget it (not always easy) and then I move on to the next project.  An easy thing to do?

No.  But I refer to scripture that I have known forever.  The Apostle Paul's words to the people Philippi are basically this - "forget what's in the past; look forward to what lies ahead,  Remember what your goals are - and that the prize has heavenly value (Philippians 4:13,14). 

I'll think about that this morning as I take a walk!

When can I touch Jesus' coat?

Allie was two in this photo; it's our favorite of the two of us

The sun came up over the St. Johns as I drove across the Shands Bridge.  It was early - even for an early riser like me.  But I was on a mission.

On that day, the third day of April, 2003, my second grandchild was going to be born.

I arrived in Tampa to find my second daughter, Renee, waiting on the process to begin.  Her long days and weeks of bed rest were about to pay off.  Her second daughter would be here within hours.  After what seemed like forever, Allison Renee made her way into our family...and thus began our adventure. 

She was a chatterbox from the beginning, loved life and having fun. 

When she was three, Allie was diagnosed with an immune disorder, Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP) - simply stated not enough platelets.  Normal is between 150,000 and 450,000.  We were told it would last six months, at the most 18 months.  It is now more than six years.  Since the onset of this, Allie's platelet count has rarely been above 20,000.

Various regimes of meds, removal of her spleen and constant watch care of this precious little girl has been baptized with prayer.  And as a result of her illness, many wonderful things have happened none the least of which is the creation of Clouds of Hope, a not for profit organization that reaches out to families who have a child (or children) with life changing illnesses.

Allie was being treated at All Children's in Tampa when she met a puppet named Daisy.  She suggested to her mother that Daisy was for girls and the boys needed a puppet as well.  So at Allie's urging, my daughter, Renee and her husband, Wally, determined that they should have a fund raiser.  They raised the money for a Donald at All Children's and had enough to send the money to another Center for a puppet of the same persuasion.  One that would help children deal with their fears.

 

When she was six, doctors determined that it was time to remove her spleen, believing that it is in the spleen that the virus which attacks the platelets resides.  While this has been somewhat helpful, it did not totally eliminate the problem and there are repeated trips for blood work and some concern that a fall would be very dangerous.  Yet through it all, Allie - and her parents have remained steadfast in their belief that this is all a part of God's plan for their lives and they endeavor to reach out to others with much determination and fervor.  And in addition to raising money for the second puppet, Clouds of Hope has been responsible for renovating several playgrounds in the Tampa area to make them safe for any child (regardless of ability).  There's also a program known as Camp Cheer, a day when parents can leave their children for a safe play day and have some time to catch up with other responsibilities.

 

Many good things have resulted in this trying time for my daughter and her family.

 

One of my favorite "Allie stories" is about the time that her parents were reading about the woman who had an issue of blood, touched Jesus's garment and was healed.  Allie asked her mother when she might touch Jesus' coat.  She has always known there is healing and is just waiting for that to happen.

 

In the meantime, Allie lives from day to day as normally as possible.  Last Fall she even got to be a cheerleader and sometimes - as long as she is decked out in helmet and pads, she gets to ride a bike.  Most of the time, she maintains a good attitude - at least that's the way it seems to this grandmother - one who is very happy to say that on this day Allison Renee Blain is celebrating her tenth birthday!